Chapter 23 #2
Now that I was on the ground on a normal day, it was obvious to me that I needed more succubi decorating the city. A set of demon tits should be in view no matter where I looked. This was a situation where overdoing it wasn't really possible, so a few dozen more couldn't hurt.
I had yet to decide, however, how frequently I would show myself to my people. I suspected that many of these walks would be done in disguise if only to get a more honest view of how my people lived and how they felt.
Today, sculptors from Goowa, the port city Ashley and I sailed out from during our escape, surprised me with a delivery: A statue made in my honor.
I had received a fair number of gifts from all manner of people who wanted to curry favor. The shortsighted ones did so to keep up appearances. The wise ones saw that Sanctuary South was on the verge of becoming a major trade nexus, so building a rapport with me was simply good business.
But this was my first statue.
The shrouded piece of art attracted curiosity that had grown to something of a crowd by the time I arrived. Four sculptors, two men and two women, stood on either side of the 20 ft piece, radiating pride for their achievement and looking a little nervous to be in my presence.
Then again, Abyssal Gaze had that effect on people.
“You honor us with your presence, my Lord,” the oldest of the four said.
“I am grateful for your kindness,” I replied.
“But you have not seen the kindness yet! Let us earn that gratitude.”
They pulled the curtain away, and I looked upon myself, standing proudly in my silks. Though the medium was marble, masterful craftsmanship made the fabric look as though it were real and frozen in place by some kind of magic.
It was beautiful. I was a majestic figure worthy of worship.
A broadsword chopped down into my right shoulder. A Sharpen ability enabled it to pass through my silk damage reduction. My collarbone separated with audible snaps. For a brief moment, I felt sharp cold accompanied by an awareness that all sensation from my right arm had disappeared.
Then the cold roared into scorching pain when the sword stopped partway through my third-to-last rib. The blade had traveled more than a foot through my torso. The sculptor who was flattering me just a moment ago lunged forward with a knife, furiously stabbing at my stomach.
He didn't have Sharpen.
I activated Blood Feast and tore the sculptor with the knife in half with my bare hands. All of the alleged sculptors had knives now, I realized.
Good-aligned levels increased by 22.
And I had overlooked another, even more critical detail: the sword was still in my chest. Blood Feast knit me back together with the weapon embedded in my body. How foolish of me to be so easily lured into a trap. These sellswords understood my character and played me to perfection.
How embarrassing.
“A fool deserves a foolish death.”
Four angeli appeared from out of the crowd, shirking off cloaks to reveal their white physiques and wide white wings, each carrying glowing white swords and round glowing white shields.
“If only the gods had sent me someone truly worthy of the viceroy class. We both may have survived.”
A dry heat washed over me but did no damage.
Fuck. These weren’t sellswords. These were paladins, and they could summon celestials.
“Your death approaches. I will finish myself to your death cries and lick every drop of the taste from my fingers.”
I twisted into the sword buried in me, the torque yanking the weapon free of my attacker’s grip.
As I attempted to draw my own weapon, another blade smashed into my right arm, and the thrust of a third and then a fourth crashed into my stomach.
Of all those attempts, only one of the thrusts had Sharpen activate and bypass my silk.
+3 to Progress to Your Fall.
Progress to Your Fall: 47 / 100 (Abaddon, King of the Abyss)
That notification only enraged me more.
“Aurketzu could save you. Your limited intellect dooms you.”
I triggered Shadows of Death, releasing the handful of shades I had stored, and spent 100 good-aligned levels to summon 20 skeleton knights with Corpse Builder. They wouldn’t last long against wielders of Holy magic, but they would force my enemy to divide their attentions.
Wraith+5.
Darkness+14.
I cocked a fist back and activated Unholy Smite+10.
The other male sculptor saw me throw a cross, but that was Ghostly Feint+4.
A sharp hook to the body pulverized half of his ribcage, the force turning it to mist. The rest of him launched sideways, crashing into the two female sculptors still trying to stab me, toppling them like bowling pins.
Good-aligned levels increased by 25.
I’ve admitted before that my build was simplistic. I hit hard, and I hit fast. So, I yanked the sword out of my stomach–still carrying the first sword in my back–and triggered Unholy Smite+10 again.
The blade exploded in my hands.
These were paladins. I just pumped Unholy Smite into a sword enchanted with Holy. I should have expected that.
At either extreme of my periphery, I spotted celestials charging in, their speed comparable to mine and their strength potentially greater.
I wheeled away to keep from leaving my back exposed as I drew my own sword and launched another Unholy Smite+10.
The celestial saw through Ghostly Feint+4 and brought his shield up to block.
It ripped in half, and my sword continued, biting into the angeli’s ribs.
Good-aligned levels increased by 41.
A white blur smashed into the other, nearest celestial. The force of Cici’s tackle sent the angeli skidding across the park. Cici started punching down on the celestial well before their momentum stopped.
A twisted black blade cut down the third celestial. Abby grinned maniacally at the spray of golden blood. She spun low and cut the knee of the last angeli. Cici leapt on it from behind and ripped its head off with her claws.
Good-aligned levels increased by 43.
Good-aligned levels increased by 37.
On the other side of the battlefield, a skeleton knight stabbed one paladin in the back while a shade leapt for his throat.
Good-aligned levels increased by 18.